Pick up the Pieces
by Kitty O
Summary: Life goes on, even for exiled warlocks and betrayed kings with chips on their shoulders and wounded pride. Reconciliation will come in time... Meanwhile, there are dogs named Dragon, bows named Elsie, lovesick citizens, attacking sorcerers, and delayed, illogical destinies to deal with. Post series 4, no slash, semi-oneshots. Ch6: In which Merlin plays matchmaker.
1. Chapter 1

**Pick up the Pieces**

Kitty O

It was a little like hate.

But it wasn't, not exactly, because hate to Merlin was usually a colder affair; something that made you want to hurt and hit at all costs. This was more like wounded love. Because it hurt, it burned, and it made them angry, but somewhere really deep the affection was still hidden.

They just didn't show it anymore. They treated each other like they weren't best friends. Arthur told Merlin what to do, and Merlin did it without complaint or laughter. They didn't mock each other anymore.

That hurt, it really hurt. It made Merlin lose sleep and feel emptiness in his stomach that transformed into dizziness every time he tried to move too much. He felt sick, like he hadn't eaten in days. However, that wasn't the worst part.

Sometimes Arthur would ask him questions. Easy ones, hard ones. Merlin did his best to answer them all truthfully.

"So Will was not a sorcerer?"

"No, he wasn't. He lied to protect me."

"Did you ever try to hurt me with it?"

"Never consciously. There was a while there when I was possessed by this snake thing inside my neck, after Morgana captured me, and I don't know what I did then."

"How long?"

"Since I was born."

"Nimueh? Whatever happened to her after she tried to kill me and make you drink poison?"

"She's dead now. I killed her when she killed Gaius. It started with the Questing Beast…"

"Halig. And you were acting so dodgy then, and stealing my food… Did that have to do with it?"

Yes, sometimes the questions hurt. But they weren't the worst part either.

Arthur hadn't made up his mind. He hadn't decided if he would lift the ban on sorcery, or execute Merlin. He hadn't told anyone yet, though. Sometimes he would smile a little when Merlin dropped something, and Merlin would think that it would all be okay. But sometimes his eyes would look hard and unforgiving, and Merlin would swallow and wonder whether it would be beheading or burning.

_I don't want to burn. I don't want to burn._

That _was_ the worst part.

Merlin couldn't stand the waiting. He could have left; he could have run away. Arthur didn't watch him. The king would let him go, probably, if he disappeared in the middle of the night. But Merlin didn't have the heart to leave without knowing how it ended.

It continued. But it couldn't continue forever.

* * *

For some reason, it was the one question that Arthur kept coming back to.

"Why did you stay in Camelot?"

It was a hard question to answer. Merlin was never sure he got it exactly right. But luckily Arthur kept asking it.

Merlin would say, "The dragon told me to, and after a while, I started to like it," or "I fit in. I had friends for the first time," or "Where else would I go? My mother sent me here," or, finally, when he was feeling very deep and truthful, he said, "It is my destiny to help you be the greatest king Camelot will ever see, unite Albion, and restore magic to the kingdom."

But for some reason, that last answer made Arthur angry. Arthur would yell at him when he gave it. "You just stayed because of destiny?" he would shout. "You didn't care about any of us?"; "How could you be so stupid! We kill people like you here!"; "Restore magic? So you were. You were using me, trying to get close to me, just like everyone else!"

Arthur would throw things.

But even though he yelled himself hoarse, there was something else that bothered him, besides the words he actually said. Merlin, for once, didn't know what it was that was bothering him.

He must not have gotten it out of his system, though, because he kept asking.

* * *

When Arthur first found out, when they were alone and he'd disposed of the threat that had tried to take his king's life, they had fought. They fought out loud; they yelled and screamed. They called each other every word they knew. And if Arthur referenced how Merlin was fatherless, then the warlock deserved it because he'd called Arthur's own father and his methods things that would have made anyone cringe.

They'd rehashed every fight they'd ever had, and Arthur had hit him. Merlin had hit Arthur back. But his blow had been pathetic, and he knew it.

The fight hadn't made such a difference, because it had just been anger and frustration getting out. It hadn't been until after that they really started to feel the hurt. Arthur felt the betrayal, and Merlin fight the vulnerability of waiting for the verdict of the only person whose opinion really mattered to him.

And eventually Merlin had stopped fighting as he waited. He started keeping his head down. Arthur's retorts got bitter, and Merlin's responses were weary. They stopped treating each other like they knew each other.

* * *

"No, Kilgharrah," Merlin said late at night, unable to sleep, standing out in a field and feeling the need to talk to kin. "Whatever he decides, I don't want you to interfere. I think… I think I'll accept what he decides this time."

"What if the king acts rashly, young warlock?"

"I'll have to talk to him until I know he's making his decision out of a clear head.

* * *

It didn't continue forever. It was a little thing that made Arthur snap.

Merlin reached for his master's cup during a council meeting to refill it. He held it still, but somehow it got away from him, and the cup fell to the side as red liquid splashed over the tablecloth like blood.

It was such a clumsy, human thing to do.

Arthur looked up. His eyes were hard. "Guards!" he called, standing, his back straight and his face set. "Guards, arrest Merlin. Put him in the dungeons, please."

The council looked at each other as though their king had lost his mind, but the guards moved forward. Merlin put the pitcher down and folded his hands in front of him, the picture of unsurprised, impassive, resigned submission.

* * *

The announcement was semi-private. Arthur told the Round Table. Gaius, Gwen, Gwaine, Leon, Percival, and Leon were told that Merlin had magic, that he'd been using it in Camelot, and that Arthur was now ready to make the decision as to his fate.

Gwen had begun to cry, but Arthur couldn't help that.

* * *

What really drove Arthur mad was that no one seemed to trust him to make any decision correctly. All of them gave their opinion and seemed to insist it was the right one.

Gwen kept crying and begging him, but he didn't even listen. Gaius kept cautioning Arthur to be rational, but Arthur could understand that—Gaius always gave his opinion, and from the paleness of his face, he was terrified for his ward.

If had just been Gaius, perhaps Arthur could have accepted and understood it.

But did none of them think he could make decisions? Didn't they trust him to decide what was right?

Gwaine was the worst, Arthur found. He was practically threatening the king by that night as Arthur stormed through the castle halls, his red cloak billowing out behind him.

"Arthur, he has done so much for you… He's saved your life!"

"Thank you, Gwaine, it's not my memory that is defective," Arthur responded coldly. "He's done quite a bit to make sure his 'destiny' comes true."

Gwaine growled dangerously and picked up his pace, grabbing Arthur by the arm and pulling him around to face the knight. "Merlin is my friend, Arthur."

Arthur jerked his hand away. Gwaine thought he was scary, but he had nothing on Arthur's fury at that moment.

Gwaine continued, yelling in Arthur's face. "And he's yours too, so I'm not just going to stand by and watch you execute him!"

"Then _don't look_!"

Something in what he'd just said caught even him by surprise, and he took a step backwards, his face going slack. And then he spun around and rushed away to the dungeons, leaving Gwaine standing there, wide-eyed.

Arthur wouldn't tell Gwaine what he had actually decided. He knew Gwaine was dying to know, and Arthur wasn't sure why he wanted to torture the man—one of his friends. Let Gwaine feel a little of his pain, though. Let Gwaine panic about what that word had meant, about what that look signified for once.

* * *

Arthur's feet tapped against the stone floor as he descended into the dungeons, the torches casting everything into deep shadow. The day was lengthening into twilight.

The second Merlin heard Arthur coming, he was at the bars of his cell so quickly that Arthur thought he had been thrown into them at first.

Clutching at the bars like they were a lifeline, Merlin spat out words it seemed he had been sitting on since he came down here. "Arthur," he said, nearly babbling. "Arthur, my mother and Gaius didn't know, okay? They didn't know?"

"They didn't?" Arthur said, a little confused at first as to why it mattered.

"I learned it and didn't tell them." Merlin's face was desperate. There wasn't even any room for pain.

"I thought you said you were born with it?" But then Arthur understood. Even association with a sorcerer could get you killed in Camelot. He had forgotten. Merlin had not.

"I lied," Merlin said, but it was obvious he was lying.

Arthur still felt guilty for leaving Gwaine behind in torment. But he'd made Merlin wait long enough. "Your mother is outside of my kingdom, Merlin," he said. "And as for Gaius, he is above suspicion."

Merlin sagged against the bars, his face down on his clenched hands. "Thank you," he whispered as all the desperation left him. It sounded almost broken in the darkness. "Thank you."

For a second they stood there in silence, Arthur steady and tall on the outside of the cell and Merlin hunched on the inside. Arthur watched him as he took deep breaths.

_He could probably break right out of here. He's much more powerful than I am. He could have killed me any time. Am I really so weak?_

At last, without looking up, Merlin spoke. His voice was small. "Please don't burn me," he said. Arthur stared at the top of his head, the closest thing to his face that could be seen.

Arthur straightened even more and put his head back. "Merlin, tonight someone will come with a key and break you out of this cell. You are going to go to the stables, where your horse will be tied. You will ride out of Camelot. No one will know why you left. And you will not come back."

Merlin looked up, bewildered. His eyes were still wet—had he been about to cry? "What?"

"You heard me. On pain of death, Merlin, you must never come back while the law stands."

"But…" There were so many things wrong with that. Exile? He was being sent into exile? But not to death—what did that mean? What about destiny? "But Arthur, if I'm gone," he said, "I can't protect you."

Arthur's voice was icy. "Merlin, I am a knight of Camelot. I can defend myself. And I have knights to protect me. I am not a child."

Merlin scoffed.

Arthur's face closed off entirely as he recoiled from that sound. As though it had burned him. _I am not a child. I am not weak. I can live without my secret sorcerer. _

Perhaps there had been a chance Merlin could have convinced him, but not anymore. Without another word – not even a goodbye – he turned and walked away.

* * *

It was Gwen who came for Merlin. There was no danger involved; the guards had been carefully instructed. And Arthur could trust her not to run off with Merlin. One of the knights might do it.

Arthur watched from the window as the two figures slunk across the courtyard toward the stables. His arms were crossed over himself, as though for protection. His chest ached.

Merlin had to go, he reminded himself. In order to keep the peace. In order to allow Arthur space to think, to evaluate—to learn to live without that man as his shadow.

Merlin's betrayal had shaken him so entirely he couldn't stand. He hadn't realized he was so dependent on the warlock, and it wasn't acceptable. Not if said warlock was going to lie to him so much, as it seemed he was.

Arthur was not a child! He was a grown man, capable of protecting himself and those he loved, capable of running a kingdom. Capable of being great. And he couldn't be great if Merlin was propping him up. No, a great man was great in and of himself. Friends _helped_, they did not _dictate_.

As Merlin reached the stables, he turned and gave the window a look—as though he could see Arthur there, watching. As though he wanted the goodbye they had not gotten. But Arthur drew back from sight, his arms still crossed and his face stony.

He was losing Merlin. But forever? Forever was a very long time.

Inside, he ached. He hurt, physically in some parts.

It wasn't hate. It was more like wounded love.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so this will be a collection of semi-oneshots. They'll all follow the same story, but they might not all follow each other exactly. It's going to be about Merlin coping with exile and Arthur learning how to be the great, self-confident king he wants to be—without Merlin's help, because he feels like he must. In the end, of course, things will work out, and some will be a lot more light-hearted than this chapter! I actually don't know exactly where I'm going. But no, they probably won't all be in this fractured format.**

**Any ideas for oneshots?**

**So, I WILL update this… But probably not until I've finished Polishing Armor. I must finish it!**

**Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Pick up the Pieces **

_In which Merlin discovers that the past isn't for living in. _

Kitty O

Merlin put his head back as he walked down the road, breathing in as the sun beat down. It was the best kind of morning; the sun was bright and warming, but the air wasn't oppressive. Not yet, anyway. It was still pretty early. It made his whole body feel freer; it made walking easier.

It made him feel nice.

Last night he'd been too exhausted to even walk any further, and he'd caught a ride with a farmer on a cart until they had to part ways. Merlin then staggered off into the trees to sleep. Before he dropped to the ground, he cast a protective spell around himself to hide him from view—he didn't want a repeat of a few days ago, when the bandits had found him.

He hadn't been in the mood for theatrics then, and he'd only just stopped crying after Gwen's goodbye, so he'd just left the bandits unconscious. All the same, he didn't want to go through it again.

So then he'd slept, and as he thought, everything looked better in the morning.

He kept walking, eyes closed despite the dangers this posed for a clumsy man surrounded by trees. He was almost to Ealdor now.

Perhaps not the most original place he could have thought of going, but he had a desire to be home. He missed home, and was still currently emotionally exhausted, and Ealdor seemed like the best option.

Also, Merlin hadn't seen his mother since Agravaine attacked his village, and he wanted to make sure everyone – the entire town – was okay, as well as tell his mother all about the wedding and coronation, since she hadn't been able to attend despite Gwen's invitation.

Moving back to Ealdor. He had to laugh as he saw it before him, growing larger. When he'd left almost seven and a half years ago (a better part of a decade!), all aglow with excitement because he was leaving home for the first time and going to see the great, exciting Camelot and Mother's old friend…

He could just see himself, with long hair, pack slung over his shoulders…

Merlin had no pack this time. His hair was shorter. He had less going back than he had leaving. He didn't even have his friends anymore. But somehow, he didn't feel all that deprived.

He walked into the town and towards his own house, spotting his mother at once.

"Mother!" he called, waving enthusiastically.

She looked up and beamed, rushing forward and throwing her arms around him. "Merlin!" she cried joyfully, her arms warm and comforting.

She'd always been a skinny woman, but somehow she still seemed to encompass him entirely as a mother should, even though he was now larger than she was. He put his head on her shoulder and didn't let go.

Eventually she pushed him back, though, looking curious. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming for a visit?"

He swallowed. He'd tell her. In a bit. "You know me," he said. "I'm always leaving in a hurry."

"It's one disaster after another with you, isn't it, Merlin?" she asked with a sigh, gesturing towards her house. "Come on, come in. I hope everything's okay."

He looked a little nervous. "Well, it's not life-threatening."

She still looked overjoyed, and didn't seem to notice that he didn't look so happy. "How long are you staying?" she asked, bustling about the house and picking things up, clearing them off. She'd gotten rid of Merlin's old cot, he noticed.

"Um, indefinitely," he answered.

And she noticed.

She turned around and looked at him with concern in her eyes. "What happened?" she asked. He tried to look innocent, but she wasn't buying it. "What happened? What was it? Why are you here?"

"Oh," Merlin said, licking his lips. "Arthur… Arthur knows."

She held a blanket in her arms, and she clutched it tightly at the news, her face going a bit paler. "And?" she asked breathlessly.

"He had me leave," Merlin said. "That's why I'm here."

"Then… this isn't a visit?"

Merlin shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know anything." He hung his head. He'd been lost for days now. "It's… I don't really know what I'm doing now." Arthur had been his only mission for much too long. He was starting from zero. Arthur didn't his help now…

He hadn't been not-needed since before he was friends with Will.

Hunith looked sympathetic, like she understood, but she didn't. Not really. All the same, she came forward and hugged him close. "Well," she said. "You can stay here as long as you want."

"Thanks, Mother."

"Maybe you'll take to being a farmer this time," Hunith said with a shrug. "Farming is a good life."

Farming was a good life. Merlin knew many farmers who were happy. So why did it sounds so small to him now?

He was home, he told himself. He was. But he missed Camelot already.

"Do you need any help?" he asked his mother.

* * *

Ealdor had always been a nice little village. Once upon a time he would have said it was a nice little village with a puffed-out chest, proud of his home. But now he had to admit that it was nothing more than a nice little village.

People woke up. They ate, they worked, and they talked. They greeted Merlin kindly enough, though most of them gave him a bit of a wide berth more out of habit than dislike. Not getting too close to some criminal's illegitimate child was something that they were so used to they didn't notice it. And still, in their own way, most of them were fond of Merlin.

Merlin had never noticed that they tended to step back when he walked up before. He'd gotten used to everyone loving to see him at Camelot. But many of his friends in Camelot didn't know. Gwaine had probably figured it out, as well as Gwen and Morgana, and Arthur knew. But Gwen was too sweet to hold it against him, Arthur knew him too well to care (and yes, he still did, despite their fight, they still knew each other like the backs of their hands), Morgana hated him anyway, and Gwaine… Gwaine had no room to judge anyone.

It bugged him now. It was probably because Will was gone.

For a while, he convinced himself that was the cause of all his discomfort. Will was gone.

It became harder and harder to believe. But he didn't tell his mother. He didn't even tell himself. He had no where else to go.

Yes, he thought, leaning back against the wall of the house, Ealdor was a nice little village. Nothing happened. No one got attacked by a monster, and no one came running into the throne room screaming, "Sorcery!"

Merlin rolled his eyes at himself. He missed panicked cries of magic being afoot; he couldn't believe it.

"Merlin?" his mother asked, coming outside, holding a loaf of bread in her hand. "Could you take this down to old Widow Rivers?"

Merlin stood up at once, glad to be of assistance. "Of course," he said. "Why?"

"Her eyesight's pretty nearly gone now, poor thing," Hunith said, staring at the bread forlornly. "I make her bread to make things easier."

Merlin came over and took the bread in his hands, kissing his mother's cheeks. "That's good," he said. "I'm sure she appreciates it. I don't mind bringing it over. I'll be back soon."

"Don't be in a hurry," Hunith called as he started down the street. "You've been standing listlessly all week!"

He laughed, but it was true. The Widow didn't live too far away, and with a strange sense that making rounds to nearly blind people should sound familiar (would he find a blond with throwing knives around here somewhere?), he knocked on her door.

"Come in," said the quiet voice from inside.

He pushed the door open. The hut was run down but well built; her husband had been good with his hands. She was sitting in the rocking chair he'd invented for her several years before he died, gray hair pinned up behind her head and a long shawl wrapped around herself. She was staring at the door, not really seeing it.

"Hello?" she called.

"Hello," Merlin said cheerfully, stepping forward and putting the bread in her hands. "My mother sent me with this loaf for you." He let her feel it. "Do you want me to put it somewhere?"

"No," she said, her voice containing a bit of a croak. "I will hold it. You're Merlin, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said agreeably. "I'm Merlin. I came to see my mother a few days ago."

"You left, didn't you?"

"I went to Camelot about seven years ago."

"I remember now!" she cackled suddenly, looking energetic enough to spring up. "Merlin! You and Will broke my door down back when John was alive."

He coughed. "Yes. That was an accident. Sorry."

"Will was terribly upset when you left him. I bet he's glad your back. Where is he? You're always together."

Merlin's smile turned sad. But she was honestly curious. She didn't remember. "He died several years back," Merlin responded. "You remember that?"

"Ah. Yes. Yes, I do. Good boy. He was a good boy. And not so inseparable at the end, after all. You've changed."

"I've gotten a bit older."

"No. You are very different," she said, pointing at him, despite the fact that she could not see him. "You aren't the same Merlin who hailed from Ealdor, are you? You don't even sound the same. How long are you staying to visit, Merlin?" she asked, changing the subject and leaning back. "Doesn't your new home need you like Ealdor used to?"

Merlin didn't answer. He was too busy staring at her.

"Merlin, did you leave?"

"No," he answered slowly, looking around her house. "I had to leave my new home," he told her at last. "I guess they don't need me anymore. So I came back to my old home."

"Well," she sniffed, ripping off a piece of her bread. "You're too big for this place now. I hope you find a new home soon." She offered a handful. "Would you like a bite?"

"No, thank you," Merlin said. "I'd better be going. Thank you for talking."

"Come back and see me sometime," she answered, chomping on the bread herself. Her teeth weren't what they used to be, so her mouth stayed open for most of the chewing. Merlin winced, surprised to find that poor table manners actually bothered him a bit now.

Camelot rubbing off.

Thinking about that, he turned and left the house, closing the door. Then he marched back down the street and to his house—but he didn't stop there. He kept walking.

"Where are you going?" his mother called from the house, wiping her hands on her dirty apron.

"To the woods; I'll be back," he responded, his boots soft against the ground as he headed for the trees, a plan forming as he went.

* * *

Three days later, Hunith found him sitting by himself in the woods, the wood of the new bow he'd made on his lap.

There was silence as she sat next to him on the log, she looking at him and he staring at nothing in particular.

At last she spoke. "You're leaving, aren't you?" she said.

He looked at her. "Is that wrong?" he asked, hushed. "I came back and tried to fit in," he said. "But… everything's so different now. So quiet. It's nice to visit, but how can I live here anymore?"

"I knew you wouldn't stay, Merlin," she said, running a hand through his dark hair. "It's not wrong. You've outgrown us."

"I missed Ealdor in Camelot," Merlin replied. "But I can't come back here for good, though I wish I could. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Do you have a plan, then?" she asked.

He hefted the bow. "I think so. It's sketchy, and it involves wandering around looking at nature and fighting evil where I find it, hunting what I need unless I can find odd jobs. It sounds pretty foolhardy, I know…"

"But you feel happier about your plan than you have since you left Camelot," Hunith said. "I always knew I was doomed to have a son who so soaked in greatness he couldn't live any other kind of way." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

"You can come with me," he said, blue eyes lighting up hopefully as he looked at his mother, judging her ability to do all that walking.

She laughed. "Merlin, I'm hardly destined for greatness. I like things quiet. I don't like wandering and adventures. That's what you need right now, though."

"It doesn't sound very permanent. Wandering spirit. That's what the servant girls in Camelot are always trying to heal men from."

She patted his head. "It's just until you can go back to Camelot."

"I can't ever go back. Arthur said so."

Hunith raised an eyebrow. "Camelot needs you like you need it," she said. "That's your home. You'll be back someday. Until then…" She stood up and took his hand like he was five again. She wished that he were.

He was leaving her again. She smiled as her heart cracked.

"Until then," she said, pulling him back towards the house. "I'm going to pack you some food and clothes. Let it never be said that Hunith doesn't do right by her son."

"No one would ever say that," he told her, grinning and letting himself be dragged along. He was leaving, and now that he knew, it felt like he could breathe again for the first time in days.

Wandering wasn't Camelot. It wasn't the adventure of serving the king and his wife or having the knights for friends. But right now, it was the best option.

* * *

**A/N: Okay. Well, I thought this one was okay. I'm sort of looking forward to next chapter, though. It should be about Arthur. By the way, if you are worried there won't be much action, there should be some later. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Pick up the Pieces**

_In which Arthur learns to respect curses. _

Kitty O

The part that really drove Arthur mad was that everyone seemed to think Merlin was dead.

He couldn't understand it. Gwaine was nearly in a panic when he came to Arthur and confronted him (and a little bit drunk, Arthur guessed, which hardly needed saying), and he'd been perfectly ready to throw down the gauntlet over his absent friend. Arthur finally took pity on him and told him what he had done. Gwaine had staggered away and obviously not told anyone, because Gaius was next, looking unsure and afraid.

Arthur had wasted no time telling him of the plan.

Percival and Elyan didn't say anything, but he saw the whispers and glances.

And then, to make matters worse, he heard the rumor going around the town that Merlin had been quietly strangled and taken out of town so as to avoid a public execution which would embarrass the king.

It all made Arthur want to tear his hair out and scream, _"I did not have my best friend murdered in cold blood!" _but he couldn't, because he wasn't currently admitting that Merlin was his best friend. Plus, they might not believe him.

Basically, everyone stopped thinking that Arthur had a heart and brain the moment that Merlin's secret came out.

How lovely. And yes, that was thought in the most sarcastic and affronted (and secretly hurt) way that Arthur could possibly think.

And then there were other problems as well. For example, the law on magic. Arthur hadn't actually executed any magic-users since his father died and he became king; there really weren't many left, and he didn't see them everywhere like his father had. Or maybe they were just getting better at hiding. Either way, he knew that sooner or later a sorcerer would be arrested and, as king, he would have to deal with the situation—but he really wasn't feeling up to it. Not after Merlin.

His father had already told him magic was evil, and so the law decreed its followers must die. But Merlin was not evil. (Or was he? He didn't act evil, but then, he might just be incompetent at it, which wasn't too hard to believe.)

If Merlin did not deserve to die – and if he did, why had Arthur let him go? – then not all sorcerers deserved to die. Which meant the law was not just.

And Arthur could not keep a law that was not just in effect.

All the same, he couldn't legalize magic either, because magic was bad and the people of Camelot hated it with a passion born of twenty years of near-fanatical persecution of it.

Arthur was becoming increasingly stressed out. George wasn't helping.

"Would you like a second helping, Sire? If you did not care for your dinner, I can get you something else."

"No, thank you, George," Arthur said as he walked out his door, with the annoying but efficient servant trailing after him. "I'm not hungry."

"Would you like something to drink, then?"

"No."

"Shall I take the leftovers to…?"

"George," Arthur said suddenly, turning around and facing the man. "If you don't shut up, I might strangle you, so do us both a favor and take care of my room as you see fit, is that understood? I don't need to hear about every step. I have other affairs to attend to."

"Very good, Sire," responded George in a chipper tone and without a hint of fear. The man was either an idiot or as brave as a lion, or perhaps a little of both. Servants could be very brave in their own way, something that Arthur had learned over the past years…

George scrambled away.

Several seconds later, Gwen floated over on a cloud of nice fabric, taking her husbands arm as he headed for the council chambers.

"Well," she said gently. "That wasn't the nicest way to handle things, but it did work."

"Gwen, please," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Don't chastise me today."

Merlin wouldn't have shut up. But Gwen knew tact very well (and how he loved her for it!), and she simply smiled. "Off to another meeting?" she asked.

"Yes, more talk about nothing and lords wondering what I'm planning on doing about the magic laws."

"And you don't know?"

"I'm working on it."

"You could ask some friends for their advice. Gwaine or Gaius. They're smart."

Arthur kissed her. "Thanks, Gwen, but I have to decide what to do on my own this time." _I have to prove that I can. _

She nodded and let it go. Arthur bade her goodbye before the council room (there was no need for her to attend this time, though she sometimes did) and went inside, sighing as he prepared himself.

He made it halfway through the meeting. He barely heard a word of it (useless drivel, all of it, why couldn't an undead knight come crashing in and cause some distraction?), and eventually he threw down the papers in his hands and stood up.

"This meeting has ended," he said, cutting across Lord Halton mid-word. The fat man gaped at him, but Arthur simply headed for the door. "Thank you all for your useful advice," he added before he left the room.

"I'm going for a ride," he announced to the guard by the door. "I'm going for a ride, and I don't know when I'll be back."

"Sire," replied the befuddled guard, who didn't know why this should concern him, and really didn't care what the king did.

"If anyone asks you," Arthur said with a shrug, despite the fact that no one would think to ask this particular guard. And they both knew it.

Arthur needed to get out of here before he simply exploded into shreds.

He went to the stables and collected his horse from the stable boy, who was also instructed to tell anyone who was wondering after his whereabouts. And Arthur was out of Camelot before he realized he had no destination in mind.

_How about the Valley of the Fallen Kings?_ Suggested a contrary voice in his head that liked the idea of going where every continually told him not to go.

_Bad things happen there, _warned another voice, which sounded like Merlin. _They say it's cursed. Remember your past two visits?_

But Arthur didn't want to listen to Merlin right now. Actually, disobeying his suggestion (made by proxy of Arthur's own head) gave him a sort of vindictive pleasure. _Try and stop me! _

He smiled as he directed his horse.

It wasn't like anything bad was actually going to happen, of course. He would just ride in, look around a bit, avoid any ambushes, maces, bandits, or memories that were too raw, look around, and leave again. It would make him feel better, going there. He would remember who was in charge. Going was a good decision.

And to Arthur's credit, this time he actually made it inside the lands before something bad happened. That could be considered a victory on a small scale.

Well, sort of.

He had just climbed off his horse and walked to one of the trees, admiring the way the sun hit it and thinking that really, these lands were beautiful. If he could get through a trip here without someone being injured, he would have to bring Gwen one day. She would enjoy the trip.

And then he heard the footstep.

Arthur groaned aloud. _Shut up,_ he thought preemptively at the Merlin-voice in his head, which had yet to speak but was _thinking_ about it, if that made any sense. He turned around, drawing his sword.

And was immediately set upon by a bunch of armed bandits.

_Where the hell did they even come from? What are they doing in these lands? Don't they know it's cursed around here? Honestly!_

Arthur counted five opponents, all raggedy and probably hungry, all at least passable with a sword. The first one was disposed of easily enough. The second one attacked with his friend, so Arthur backed up against a tree.

He felt a sharp pain in his left arm, nearly lost his balance, but bent his knees and managed to dispose of the most immediate threat. The third was joined by the fourth. Arthur jumped behind the tree, using whatever protection he could have as he lashed out in defense.

A sting in his leg as the last one came at him, running around the obstacle. Arthur managed to kill him; he was too rushed to correctly fight. The third and fourth were still there and coming.

Reality seemed a little warped, as it always did when he was fighting—as though he could see better than normally, like hearing and sight and smell all combined to form one master sense.

There was heat on his side, he noticed, but it was his left, and it didn't stop him from finishing the last two bandits.

Arthur re-sheathed his dirty sword, noticing finally that he hurt. His arm hurt. His leg hurt. His side really hurt.

Oh, dear, he'd gotten injured, hadn't he?

There was something about this place, he decided, shaking his sweaty blond head. He'd better find water. He remembered a pool around here from last time, he thought distantly.

_Waking up with Merlin's jacket on him, his back aching from a bruise, looking around in confusion and spotting a shivering servant…_

Arthur stumbled (_stumbled_, oh no, that was bad, _stumbled_ meant bad injury…) through the trees, waving his hand at his horse behind him as though it could understand that.

He really hurt.

The pool… There it was, glittering in the sun, surrounded by rocks. Pretty place.

_You look like a startled stoat. _

Arthur collapsed, head towards the water. He cried out sharply as he middle seemed to scream. He moved his hand towards the pain… He felt heat, liquid. That was blood, wasn't it? How silly of him not to notice it before…

_Well, at least I don't look like a bone-idle… toad. _

The world was spinning. Crud. That was always bad.

He became dizzily aware that someone was approaching him. Someone was sitting next to him. Someone was speaking.

"Do not fret, Pendragon. I shall help you."

A quiet, kind voice. Someone who would help him.

_I really can't do anything by myself, can I?_

But slowly the pain was draining away as he lay there fading, and suddenly he could see with clarity. He moved his head to the other side, but there was none of the agony he had expected. An old man was sitting next to Arthur, looking peaceful and white-haired, smiling slightly.

"Hello, King Arthur. I think you shall find you are fully healed."

Arthur blinked at him. "You have magic," he said.

"To an extent," the man said. "You are near the place where magic originated. You should expect to find magic everywhere here."

Arthur closed his eyes. "Great," he said. "Great, more friendly magic. This is really going to help things." He looked at the man again. "Thank you for healing me," he forced out.

"I do not mind, King Arthur. You have a great destiny before you, you and Emrys. It is not your time to die."

Now that annoyed Arthur. Not that he had a problem with not dying, but this was looking like another destiny thing.

He hated the word destiny now.

"It almost was," Arthur remarked, sitting up. "If you hadn't saved me."

"I would not have needed to," the old man replied, getting to his feet and watching carefully as Arthur managed to climb to his, "if you had Emrys with you. Last time he was, though he was not powerful enough to heal you. I assisted, of course, but I think that now he would not need my help."

Arthur squinted as the pieces fell into place. Ah, he thought. Half of him wanted to smirk. _Looks like even Merlin needs help sometimes. _Half of him wanted to throw something. _Really? He'd even lied about that? The arrow didn't pierce my armor, my foot!_

"I'm sorry," Arthur said at last. "Who are you?"

"My name is Taliesin," the old man replied.

Arthur redrew his sword. "I need to clean this," he said, putting it on the ground. "It's nice to meet you, Taliesin. It seems you know who I am."

"Indeed," the old man said, looking at the blade. His eyes flashed and it was clean and silver once more. "Tell me, Prince Arthur, where is your other half?"

Arthur stared down at the sword, not shocked, but not pleased, either. He'd wanted to clean that himself. Or at least get his _own_ servant to do it. Oh, well… He'd make George get Arthur's blood off this chainmail.

"My wife is in Camelot," he replied.

"I did not refer to the queen," the old man said. Arthur knew he didn't. "I meant the warlock, Merlin, I think you call him."

"He's not in Camelot. Please never refer to him as my other half again, thank you," Arthur replied, keeping his voice steady.

The old man smiled. "But he is the completion of your destiny. You need him to unite Albion. The prophecy has decreed it."

"Oh, has it?" Arthur asked. He'd wanted to snap for days. But he would not yell at this old man who had absolutely no idea what was going on. He would not. "Merlin has been banished for practicing magic, so for the time being, I'll have to do that on my own."

The old man looked a little scandalized, but he hid it well. He nodded serenely. "No good can come of defying destiny," he warned. "The prophecy has been written. You…"

"Are the king, and not a druid, so I don't know much about your destiny or prophecies," Arthur said suddenly, tired of biting his lip. His voice was cold. He didn't care. "I've heard this complaint before. Merlin also seemed to think I couldn't do anything if he wasn't around to help. However, if destiny is so important, I'm sure it will find a way to work things out." Arthur picked up his sword and put it away again.

"You are young," the man said, shaking his head. "Emrys learned not to defy destiny, I believe."

"I'm not defying anything," Arthur said. "I'm just doing as I see fit. If I had never known about a prophecy, it would have worked out anyway, I assume. I think that it might predict my actions, rather than expecting me to change to fit the pre-written. That seems to make a bit more sense than some words written by a man I didn't know who thought he could just tell me how to make the world work."

"Yes," Taliesin agreed. "That is true."

"After all, if it doesn't work that way, then how would I unite Albion? The rest of it wouldn't know to unite without hearing the prophecy."

Taliesin eyed the king with slight approval. "That is certainly a unique way of looking at it," he said. "Do you think it will work?"

"If Merlin is meant to come back, he will," Arthur said, not minding the prospect in the least. "I should be back at Camelot," he sighed. "Thank you for your assistance."

"You are welcome," the man replied calmly. "Your wife will be worried. Good luck to you."

"You as well," Arthur said, turning around. "Oh, and if you don't mind, don't tell anyone else what you said about the other half thing. I have enough trouble squashing rumors as it is." But then he turned back to see the old man nod—only he was gone.

"Oh," said Arthur allowed. And shrugged. Magic.

He headed back towards his horse, surprised to find that the bodies of the bandits were gone. _Something about this place. _

He didn't worry about it, rather just climbed on his horse, feeling at peace for the first time since he'd seen Merlin perform magic and his world had fallen apart. He was actually a little… proud of himself.

Why? He wasn't sure. It wasn't like he won anything large; he'd needed help to survive.

But he thought that Taliesin might have understood what Arthur had said. He felt like now he knew why it was okay that he had told Merlin to leave. Arthur understood it better himself—why he could make his own decisions.

As he galloped away, covered in his own blood, back toward Camelot, he began to write out the new proclamation in rough form inside his head. He would write this one by himself. He wouldn't even let George help.

_It has come to my attention that due to the individual circumstances which may lead a person to practice magic, an art declared illegal on pain of death by the city of Camelot under the reign of my father, Uther Pendragon, the seriousness of practicing such an art may vary in separate cases. And so, after deliberation, I have decided to change the penalty for practicing the illegal art, said to lead to corruption and evil, from death to banishment until further investigation can be made upon the subject which will help further understand the nature of magic…_

* * *

**A/N: That was lengthy. How was it? I feel like Arthur's got a real struggle going down trying to be okay with himself. It's worse than Merlin being lonely… It's hard to write. How did I do? Oh, this is long, so I couldn't catch all my typos! Help me?**

Tune in for next chapter: _In which Merlin gets a new best friend._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Did you know that I simply adore Merlin's boots? Seriously. They're like… little and cute. I don't know why, but I love those little boots. (Little boots, like Caligula… Sorry, off-tangent.) Go look at them, when Percival is carrying Merlin in 4.02 or something. Aren't they cute?**

* * *

**Pick up the Pieces**

_In which Merlin gets a new best friend._

Kitty O

If there was something peasants didn't have, it was curiosity. They simply didn't care, for the most part, one way or the other about strangers—they were all too busy trying to survive.

It sounded like a good thing, on the surface, since it would ensure no one ever found out that Merlin was a banished warlock who was – perhaps, maybe, just-a-little-bit – inside the borders of Camelot's lands, where he really shouldn't be. But it was also really boring, because in Camelot, Merlin had gotten into a fight with the prince on the second day.

Wandering was interesting, too, in its own way, of course.

It wasn't that Merlin was lonely, per say—people were everywhere. Only…Just… yeah, Merlin was lonely, and he wanted someone to look up and say, "Hello, stranger, what's your name?" so he wouldn't be so lonesome anymore.

This newest town wasn't looking any different from the rest. Merlin had just walked in several minutes ago, his feet kicking up dirt on the street leading into the dingy center of town. The hood of his dark cloak was down and it was thrown back over his shoulders, revealing his dirty walking clothes to the daylight. He had a staff in his hand; he hadn't used it recently – it was Dragoon's staff – but he liked to have it around. Several buildings were surrounding him, much like Ealdor's had, with only a small tavern off in the corner to show for social gatherings.

Scuffing his boots against the ground, Merlin stopped and looked around, taking stock of the place. The people who saw him definitely knew he was a stranger. Those who spared him looks gave him distrustful glares, and those who didn't seemed rather strained about avoiding his eyes.

_Hm,_ thought Merlin. _Maybe they're friendlier in the tavern._

Suddenly his attention was drawn by barking. Merlin yanked his eyes from the tavern and down to the dog at his feet. Merlin's eyebrows rose of their own accord—a dog? It was indeed unusual to find a dog away from nobles, unless it was a stray. But the animal didn't appear to be a half-starved, vicious mongrel. It was a floppy thing, an ugly brown dog that stood to Merlin's thigh and bright black eyes, with a muzzle that seemed to be smiling and growling at the same time.

"Hey there," Merlin greeted it, wondering why it had run up to him. "What is it?"

The dog barked at him with a bit of a growl, getting close to the ground as though to say, _Don't push me, little man! I might pounce!_

"What, boy? Where did you come from?"

Merlin bent down and reached out a hand tentatively to see what the dog would do. He was ready to yank back should the canine try to bite.

"He wants his bone back," said a matter-of-fact, high-pitched voice level with Merlin's head.

Merlin stood up straight, looking up at the little girl staring at him unabashedly. She was young. Probably about twelve. He looked her up and down once. Bossy. A little awkward. She might be attractive when she was older, if she was careful and went about it the right away. "Sorry?" he asked.

"His bone," she snapped. "You're standing on it."

Merlin looked down at his feet and smiled. "Ah," he said, stepping back. The dog dove for where his feet had been and wrapped its jowls about a dingy, off-white stick that probably once belonged to an animal (hopefully). "You're right."

She twitched her eyebrow as though to say, _"Of course."_

"Is this your dog?" he asked.

"No," she told him. "He's not."

"Who does he belong to?"

"Old Henry used to be his owner," she said, licking her lips and giving Merlin the same once-over he'd given her—but more wary. "He's dead now, though. Dog doesn't belong to anyone. You can pet him," she added, seeing that Merlin was twitching towards the dog's head. Merlin nodded thanks and rubbed the animal's ears.

"Poor thing," he said. "A stray now, are you, dog? Me too. Me too." He looked up at the girl again. "I'm Merlin," he said, offering his hand to shake.

She took it. "Elsie," she said. "You aren't from around here."

"No," he agreed. Sensing the start of an awkward pause, he asked, "What happened to his old owner?"

"Old Henry got killed," she said, still emotionlessly. "About a fortnight ago. The raiders caught him coming home alone."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said, forehead crinkling. Raiders? And only a fortnight? Images of Kanen flashed through his mind.

She shrugged as the dog trotted over to her and she patted his head. "He was coming home alone," she said. "He wasn't quite right in the head, Old Henry. It was bound to happen."

Merlin looked at the dog, thinking. "Was it?" he asked. "I'm very new around these parts, and I don't know what you're talking about."

Elsie looked at the dog too, trying to figure out how it was interesting. "This town is being plagued by a group of bandits, raiders. They charge in every once in a while and smash things, steal food and money. And if you get in their way, they'll kill you." She winced. "My brother was killed about two months ago, and Old Henry died, like I said."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said.

"You aren't one of them, then?" she asked, and he looked up in surprise.

"Do I look like a bandit?"

"What does a bandit look like?" she shot back, and for the first time he saw that she wasn't emotionless, but even a bit angry—she was just good at hiding it.

"I've seen plenty," he told her. "Trust me. For the most part, they're muscular, mean, and stupid. I'm none of those things, I swear."

"Then what are you doing here?" she asked. "Most visitors don't make it in without getting attacked, or they avoid the town as though we've had an outbreak some disease."

"I'm lucky that way," he said. The dog wandered back over to him and he crouched down, petting its head affectionately. "What's the dog's name?"

"I don't think Henry ever gave him one," she replied.

"Oh," he said. "Well, good dog." He stood up and wiped his hands. "Is there a place to eat around here, or an inn? Something like that?"

"Sure," she said. "My parents run it. But we're not ready for guests. We haven't had any since the bandits showed up. You'll have a hard time finding work, either, if that was your plan."

"Well," Merlin said with a shrug, "I didn't really have a plan. But if leaving town means I'm going to get mugged, then I might stick around for a while. Like I told the dog here, I'm kind of a stray myself, so I've got time."

"I'll show you the way," she said, still looking a little bored, and Elsie turned and started to walk away. Merlin followed her, pushing the dog to the side and glancing around the town again, trying to guess which place was the inn.

The raspy sound of small paws behind him gave both people pause, and when Elsie turned around she gave a smile for perhaps the first time in the five minutes Merlin had known her. And she started to laugh. "I think he likes you," she said.

Indeed, the dog was trotting along after them, bone in its mouth, his eyes locked on Merlin's body. Merlin smiled. "Hey, dog," he said, "you can follow me if you want, but I'm not going anywhere interesting."

The dog walked up to his side and sat down.

Elsie laughed again. "Well, then," she said. "I guess you _aren't_ a bandit."

* * *

Elsie's parents were severe but kindly people, boring to look at and boring to talk to, but then perhaps Merlin was just spoiled from his constant interaction with the vibrant personalities of people like Arthur, Gwaine, even Morgana.

But the bowl of stew Elsie's mother gave him was cheap, and Elsie's father went and found another bone for the dog, so perhaps he was just being a contemptible prat.

He made an effort to be more interested. They were sitting in the inn's kitchen, Merlin eating and the rest of the family (which contained only the three of them) was sitting around. The mother was sewing. The father was toying with several tools. Elsie was just sitting on a stool, swinging her legs idly.

"So you come from the castle of Camelot?" the mother asked, and looked impressed. "What is it like there?"

Merlin shrugged. "It's a nice place. Lots of important people. I worked for a noble, so I saw a lot of it."

"They say the king is handsome and fearsome," Elsie said, and her mother shot her a look to tell her not to talk so much. But Elsie had a little smile on her face.

"I couldn't say about handsome," Merlin said with a chuckle, though actually, he'd been around enough maids to be able to say quite a bit about _handsome_, "but he's a good man. Bit arrogant. Stupid looking crown. But a good king."

The mother made a disapproving noise at his facetiousness. Elsie's father, however, said, "So how is it you come to be wandering around the bandit-infested outskirts of the kingdom?"

More bandits. He'd never met a people who talked of them more. And he'd been chased by bandits more times than he could count.

Merlin took another sip of stew. It was pretty good. He'd already worked this out with himself; outside of Camelot, sometimes he was a banished warlock and sometimes just a wanderer. Inside of Camelot's lands, he didn't even like magic. "My master died and I was out of a job," he said.

"You couldn't find another in a household?"

"I was never a very good servant," Merlin said, eyes twinkling. He shifted, moving his cloak around his shoulders. "How much are the rooms per night?" he asked, just as the door burst open and several men came rushing in.

Merlin was on his feet in a second, ready to move. All the candles in the house, which previously were unlit in the light of day, flickered to life in his alarm. There was an attack, he thought. It had been foolish to stay in Camelot's lands, but how did they know…?

"Amanda!" snapped the man at the head, a tall gray fellow. "We need a bed! Eric's been wounded, and his house is burning. There's no where else."

Elsie's mother jumped to her feet. "Bring him in!" she said. "Are there bandages? Elsie, sweetie, go find ointment, get water, and bandages!"

Elsie leapt to her feet, her face drawn and her expression brittle (was that what panic looked like on a stoic girl?) and scrambled into the back room.

Her father was on his feet. "The fire's at his house?" he asked the man who seemed to be in charge as the other men went outside to carry in Eric. "Will it spread?"

"There's wind," the man said with a shrug. "Bill and some of the others are trying to put it out, but…"

"I'm going," her father said, and grabbed a pail from the kitchen as he ran out, leaving his tools lying on the kitchen.

Eric, as it turned out, was a man about Merlin's age, with a shock of blond hair and a pained grimace on his face. Blood stained his abdomen and one trouser leg had been burned or ripped off, leaving a bright red, inflamed, and in some places bleeding leg. Three men were carrying him into the back of the inn after Elsie. Her mother followed them, shouting orders.

Merlin hadn't moved since he realized that he wasn't under attack. He watched the commotion silently, eyes narrowing.

He looked at one of the men who remained standing in the inn.

"Who is Eric?" he asked.

"Alice's husband," the man replied. "He's been around here since he was born; he's a blacksmith. He's not very rich; I don't know why they targeted him."

Merlin saw the worry in the man's face. This was just the sort of small town where everyone would know everyone. The dog whined as he stood from his place under the table and came to rub his side on Merlin's leg. Absentmindedly, the warlock petted it.

"These bandits really have been giving you trouble, haven't they?"

"More than we can handle, sir," the young man agreed.

"Are they still at Eric's home?"

"No, we figure they went out into the woods."

"Well," Merlin said for what seemed like the millionth time that day. "It looks like they need to be dealt with." He rolled his arms, and the motion flipped his cloak over his shoulders. Adjusting the hood so it would go up to cover his face with ease, he started for the door.

"Sir!" cried the young man to the stranger. "What are you going to do? Those men are armed."

"Don't worry," replied Merlin, turning back and glancing over the other men, very few of whom were still milling around. "This is the sort of thing I'm good at." To himself, he added, "I just wish there were someplace safe for my money bag."

And then he turned and walked out the wooden door of the inn, letting the flimsy thing drift open behind him as he walked out into the street and was assaulted with the smell of choking smoke.

Behind him, the dog trotted happily along.

Elsie came out of the back room several seconds later, wiping her hand on her apron. "Here, Merlin…" she started, but stopped when she saw his absence and stared at the young men left in the room. "John, where did he go?" she asked, and he pointed out the door.

Face drawn with confusion, he scratched his head and said, "He went to go 'deal with' the bandits. He said he did that sort of thing. Who is he?"

"He _what_?" she nearly squawked, only she was thirteen and much too grown up to squawk, thank you very much. And then she took off towards the door, not entirely sure what she intended to do, but sure that this was the first guest they'd had in a month and she had to explain to him why he was crazy.

* * *

Merlin always secretly liked the way his dragon-kin voice sounded.

He didn't get to use it very much, and never in front of people, but secretly he liked it—it made his voice go deeper, which was pretty interesting. It was sort of impressive.

At least, he thought so.

So it was a shame that he never got to show it off. But then, keeping his head was slightly more important than impressing people. And it would be just embarrassing to be dragged to Camelot after he'd been kicked out once. Arthur would kill him for idiocy if not for magic.

Merlin made it quick, roaring into the sky with his hood up. He didn't have time for Kilgharrah to land and talk to him in quieter human tones, so he just relayed his plan quickly in the dragon-tongue: that he might need backup or a diversion.

And then he rushed into the woods, listening and looking for the bandits.

The good thing about bandits was that you never had to look for them for long; they usually found you anyway.

Actually, that was the bad thing about them too.

It was not five minutes before Merlin looked up to find that a large, stocky man blocked his path, and a quick glance around told him that he was surrounded on all sides by veritable walls of ugly.

"Ah," said Merlin. "There you are. You are the infamous bandits."

The man in front of him sneered. "You found us," he agreed. "Worst mistake you'll ever make." Merlin assumed he was the leader because, after all, he could talk.

Merlin laughed. "I have made some huge mistakes," he said. "Trust me, there's no way this is the worst. But I didn't come to talk about me." The smile fell from his face as he pushed his hood back.

If they were Druids, he probably would have heard gasps. But bandits usually weren't learned enough if prophecy to know about Emrys. (Merlin wasn't even sure how the Druids recognized him, honestly, but they all spoke in riddles so he was kind of scared to ask.)

"I came to talk about you."

There was laughter from the bandits, who looked at each other with those horrible leers.

"Us?" the leader repeated with contempt.

"I came to warn you that it's time to give up your little thieving careers," Merlin said, pushing back the shoulders of his cloak as well, "so that I don't have to hurt you."

"Big words, little man," the laughing bandit said. "But I don't see how you can enforce them. We have weapons. What do you have?" He hefted the club he held in one hand and the sword he had in the other higher in the air so Merlin could see them easily.

"Power," Merlin said. "I think you've terrified this village a little too long and hurt too many people."

"And you'll stop us how? That dog over there?" He gestured behind Merlin.

The warlock turned slightly to see, and sighed. "Dog," he said, "you followed me? Again?" He shook his head. He understood wanting to stay with your master, but he didn't own the mutt! "No," he said. "The dog has nothing to do with the things I am capable of."

At this the men just couldn't control themselves. They were all laughing uproariously. It was about fifteen to one, with the numbers also having the weapons.

"Ouch," Merlin said calmly, "right in my self-esteem."

"Enough of this," the bandit said. "Have you got any money?"

"Yes, I did actually think to bring some with me."

The bandit raised his sword. "Say your prayers, then," he said, and rushed forward, swinging at Merlin.

Merlin ducked, eyes flashing gold as he moved quicker than should be possible. The bandit leader rounded on him once he realized he had missed, bringing up his club and striking Merlin in the elbow.

"Ow!" cried the warlock, stumbling back. He hissed a word in another tongue, and a blast of power left his hands, entering into the bandit leader, who clutched his heart and gurgled a bit before falling down dead.

Merlin looked down at him blankly, blinking. "I did warn you," he said, before turning to face the remaining fourteen bandits.

And pandemonium reigned. Though, strangely, it actually had little to do with the sudden magical death of their leader. Not so strangely, it had a lot to do with the dragon that suddenly descended upon them.

There was chaos. Screaming. Arrows flying. Thrown knives. And fire. Lots of fire. Burning bandits rolling to put out the flames.

And some of them seemed to figure that if they could kill Merlin, the dragon would go as well.

Merlin managed to secure a sword from the fallen leader, and he used it along with his spells to fend off the attackers, downing several of them. He actually couldn't use a sword well, but luckily the bandits were just that panicked. The dog stayed next to his side the entire time, growling and snapping at bandits that came too close.

At one point he became aware of a stinging sensation and heat in his side, and he figured that he'd been injured, but there wasn't really any time to worry.

He was caught up in the flurry of fighting, eyes glowing gold constantly and the dragon making repeated low sweeps over the trees.

Unless they were still preoccupied with Eric and his house, someone was going to notice.

And then, suddenly, it was over. Merlin was snarling, turning around to face his opponent when he realized there wasn't one. The last two of the bandits were running away from him, screaming in blind panic. And the rest were lying on the floor of the forest.

Merlin smiled a little proudly, wiping his hand across his forehead and dropping his weapon.

His side burned, so he looked down and winced. An arrow was sticking out of him, the head in his flesh. Not pleasant, but he thought he could live, unless it got infected.

He should head back into the town, then, he figured, tiredly shaking his head. Wrapping his cloak around his body, he took a step towards where he'd come… And stopped.

Oh, he wasn't going to make it to town. He swayed, eyes starting to drift closed.

"Merlin!" he heard the scream. "Merlin!"

Looking up, he spotted Elsie running towards him from the trees towards him, but the world was spinning and he couldn't pay attention.

"Ah," he said. "Impeccable timing… I took care of the bandits." He offered his most innocent smile.

Her hand was on his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Arrow in the side," he said. "Tell the villagers two bandits ran, but the rest are here… They sort of burned themselves, some of them, I think…"

"Okay," she said. "Do you need help walking back? Should I go get my mother?"

"Ah," he said dizzily. "Arthur's going to mock me…I'm going to faint now."

And he did.

* * *

When he became aware again, he was lying in a bed, his head propped in a pillow, his side was bandaged, and his mouth was tight and dry.

"Feeling alright?"

"No," he responded, turning to the sound of the voice. An almost attractive young teenager peered back at him from her seat by his bed. "How long?"

"A week," she said. "You've been drifting in an out of consciousness. You're in the inn. You don't need to worry about paying; my mother is thrilled to have you stay here free after what you did. We've had this conversation five times."

"Okay," he said, moaning against the light. "How's Eric?"

"He's recovering," Elsie replied. "Everyone is very grateful to you. They all want to greet you. They want to offer you their hospitality."

"I want to sleep," Merlin said unhappily. "And I can't stay here long once I recover."

Elsie looked at the bed spread. "You saved our town," she said. "Everyone's very pleased."

"I barely did anything," he said. "It was that dog. He created a diversion. Tell them it was the dog."

Elsie laughed. "Really?" she pointed at the foot of Merlin's bed—and sure enough, there the dog was. "He hasn't left your side since you got here. I think you're going to have to take him with you when you go, O wanderer. He's gotten attached."

Merlin reached out his hand towards the dog, which was asleep, but his fingers were several feet too short to touch the soft mutt's fur. "They do say that dog is man's best friend," he said.

"If you're going to keep him, you should name him," she said, standing up from her chair. "I need to go help my mother now, and you should rest. Give him a good name. He saved us all."

"I don't know what to name him," Merlin said, blinking tired blue eyes at the slumbering brown dog. "A savior's name? Samson? Monster?"

"Think about it," she said.

His brow furrowed. She reached the door, but before she left she hesitated.

"How about," she suggested, "how about Dragon?"

There was silence as Merlin's eyes snapped to meet hers. _She knows_. _She saw. _But she was smiling, and gave him a saucy teenaged wink as though to promise: _your secret is safe with me._

"Since he saved us all," she repeated.

Merlin, slowly, slowly, started to grin along with her as his eyes went back to the friendly dog on his feet. "Alright," he said. "Dragon it is."

* * *

**A/N: Wow, long. Okay! Well, tell me what you thought! **

Next chapter will possibly be: _In which Arthur learns a few new things. _**But I feel like that's a chapter I actually don't really want to do yet, and so if you would please give me ideas I might use them!  
**

_**If I forgot to give credit last chapter, it was inspired by fernazab's review. Thanks, you two! **_


	5. Chapter 5

**Pick up the Pieces **

_In which Arthur learns a few new things._

Kitty O

Arthur sank back into his throne, next to his wife.

"Yes," he said, fighting to hide his boredom. "Please, Sir Leon, continue."

Leon nodded sympathetically. He knew his monarch was bored out of his mind with listening to little petty problems. But he had been given complaints by the commoners, and so it was his duty to inform the king.

"Sire," he said. "There have been reports of certain events, and one or two people who swear they saw a man use magic in towns under Camelot's jurisdiction."

"What town?"

"Several near the outskirts… Um, mostly from the town outside the Darkling Woods… Near Ealdor."

Arthur's eyebrows went up. "How long ago?"

"About two months."

Same time Merlin had fled Camelot.

"Was there a description of this man?"

"No, Sire." Leon winced, knowing that this would be the point where Uther blew up.

Arthur, however, nodded serenely. "If there is no description, I cannot send knights out on hearsay. Besides, if the reports were several weeks ago, then any alleged sorcerer was probably passing through and would be long gone by now. If we have any more reports from the same area, please inform me and I will take action. Is there anything else?"

"Uh… Well, Sire…"

"Go on, Sir Leon." Arthur took Gwen's hand. He rubbed her thumb softly, glad she was here… Even if it just meant they were suffering together.

"Well, there have been several reports that a dragon was seen flying over a town in Camelot's territory?" Sir Leon posed it like a question.

Arthur's eyes grew wide. "A dragon sighted? Was anyone attacked or hurt?"

"No, Sire. Not that we have heard. But it was supposedly seen flying over the woods. Not far from Lot's land."

"Then we will need to send out men to search…"

Suddenly Gwen's hand tightened on his, and he was drawn out of his speech. Following her gaze, he saw Gaius looking at them upon the throne… And shaking his head in warning.

Arthur's eyebrows drew together. "Gaius? Was there something you wished to add?"

"Sire," Gaius said, his eyes wary as he stepped forward. "You killed the last dragon, if you remember. I can tell you that when your father was king, rumors of dragon sightings were common. Someone would see a large bird and get carried away, and then others would take up the cry. Without evidence, I would assume, Sire, that it is a one-time event."

Arthur was surprised. Usually Gaius erred on the side of caution. For him to suggest that he _ignore…_

Oh no.

Oh no. _Merlin._ Wasn't it always?

But… a dragon. How could Merlin be involved with a _dragon_?

Arthur swallowed almost audibly. "I shall allay my people's fears by sending out several men to search for any signs of a dragon," he said, watching Gaius for signs of disapproval. The old man nodded. "If none are found, the matter will be dropped. Very well. Everyone is dismissed…" He swallowed again. "But Gaius, please remain. I wish to discuss with you…"

* * *

"_He's a WHAT?"_

"A dragonlord, Sire. Like his father."

Arthur was feeling like his heart was giving out. He clutched the wine in his hand as he stood up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Like his… Balinor was his father. Oh, gods. Oh, sweet Camelot. You aren't joking?"

Gaius shook his head.

Arthur was red. "And he didn't even leave Camelot all the way! He came back. That man. Was a single word he said ever the truth?" He was simmering. Gwen put her hand on his arm.

"Nothing could surprise me anymore," Arthur said to her, his glass of wine shaking with his fury. "Nothing."

Gwen cleared her throat and looked at Gaius, who nodded. Her free hand went to her stomach and she looked up at Arthur with those big doe eyes he was so in love with.

"Then," she said with a stab at bravery, "I suppose now would be a good time to tell you that I'm pregnant."

Arthur's jaw and the cup of wine in his hand dropped in perfect synchronization.

* * *

**A/N: Wanted a shorter chapter after last week's long one. Plus, it's more fun to hear about Merlin than Arthur currently… But no fear, Arthur will get his fair share of fun. **

**Next chapter will be:** _In which Merlin plays matchmaker._


	6. Chapter 6

**Pick up the Pieces**

_In which Merlin plays matchmaker._

Kitty O

It was the whistling which drew Thomas's attention.

He was sitting in his one-room home, painstakingly working on the table he was trying to piece together, when he heard it: the sharp, musical whistle to the tune of a brazen tavern song, growing closer.

He grinned, standing up immediately and making his way to the door. Opening it, he smiled at the man coming across the dirt road of the town, a large brown dog at his heels.

"Hey!" he called, waving and leaning against his door frame. "I see you got tired of taking your life into your hands and decided to come back."

The skinny man, a little tanner than he was last time Thomas saw him, smiled back. "Of course I did! I said I would!" He came up to the door. "Besides, there was no danger."

"Course not," Thomas sniffed. "Walking back into Camelot like you weren't banished on pain of death; how could that be dangerous? Who is the dog?"

"This is Dragon," the dark-haired man said. "Dragon, this is Thomas. Thomas, do you mind if he comes in? He's very attached to me."

Thomas eyed the dog warily. "If he knocks one thing over, you both go out in the dirt," he warned without feeling.

The warlock laughed and stepped inside, the dog following. "I was technically banished on pain of death," he said. "But not publicly. The whole thing was very private. Minds can be changed!"

"You're a sorcerer," Thomas said. "'On pain of death' is understood, Merlin. No one changes their mind about that."

"I have friends in high places," Merlin said, taking a seat on a chair by Thomas's table, and petting Dragon when the dog's head was immediately laid in Merlin's lap.

Thomas rolled his eyes. Merlin said that sometimes, but he never did explain to Thomas how he, a sorcerer, had gotten caught in Camelot but not been executed. Thomas was the only person in town (a small place near Camelot but firmly outside the borders) who knew about the warlock, officially anyway (everyone else just didn't say anything about it), and so he couldn't even speculate with anyone else. He had to draw his own assumptions—currently, he was thinking that it was because Merlin was something special, and there was no one really like him.

Thomas started to go back to his table, but then Merlin spoke up. "So," he said. "You didn't break it, did you?"

Thomas started. "Sorry," he said. "Your bow and arrows. I forgot. No, it isn't broken… Here, it's under the bed." He went and retrieved the contraption, handing it to Merlin, who looked delighted. "I got you some new arrows," he said, "since I used quite a few."

"Ah, thank you," Merlin said. "I'm glad to have Elsie back."

Thomas cocked his head. "You've named it Elsie? Why?"

Merlin tapped his finger on the bow's wood and slung the arrows over one arm. "Because," he explained, "it's sharp, smart, and keeps my hide safe. So, did they help you? Did you get it?"

"I did," Thomas said, smiling. "It was a buck, a little too near the village. That's what was tearing all of Annemarie's garden up."

"And was she appreciative?" Merlin asked, leaning forward.

Thomas gave a sideways smile.

"So you're courting," Merlin guessed.

The smile flickered and sank.

Merlin sat back with a sigh. "You didn't ask her, did you? For heaven's—"

Thomas held out a hand suddenly for silence, standing up as he heard footsteps. "Someone's coming," he said, looking to the door as he heard a knock.

"Hello?" a soft feminine voice called from the other side.

Thomas nearly tripped over himself as he nearly flew to the door, opening it so fast Merlin was afraid he was going to hit himself with it on accident. "Annemarie!" he said with a huge smile on his face. "What brings you here?" he asked, running his hands through his hair.

She held out her hands. "I brought you a pie. I had some extra sugar lying around. And I know how you like apple pie. It's a thank you, for the buck. Papa doesn't mind!" From where he sat, Merlin snorted quietly. He was a servant. He knew how much sugar it took to make a pie, and he'd been friends with Gwen long enough to know that it wasn't too easy for peasants to just have "extra" lying around... Annemarie had obviously been saving.

"Thank you, Annemarie," Thomas said shyly, taking the pie. "Would you like to come in?"

"Oh, I suppose I should be heading back home… Oh! It's a dog." She immediately came inside, smiling softly. "Merlin!" she greeted the man as he stood. "You came back!"

"Got tired of Camelot's lands," he said, as if that would ever happen. "I missed you."

"And you brought a dog," she said as Dragon lifted his canine head and went straight for her, sniffing her hands. "He's precious. What's his name?"

"Dragon," Merlin said.

She rubbed the dog's ears enthusiastically. "Dragon? Oh, aren't you a sweet dog. You sure don't act very ferocious for something named Dragon."

"I named him that because he's an ugly mutt," Merlin said affectionately, and then laughed at his own private joke.

She _tsked_ as Dragon left her and made a beeline for his master. "Where did you get him?"

"His old master died," Merlin said. "I have a soft spot for strays."

"Won't you sit down?" Thomas asked Annemarie, coming forward nervously, as though afraid she'd say no.

She bit her lip. "I really can't stay long."

Thomas looked so crestfallen that Merlin intervened. "But you need to stop and tell me the gossip before you go," the warlock said. "No one else is reliable in this town."

That caught her. She sat down in a chair which Thomas had just made recently, and Merlin took his own seat again. Thomas just crouched by the table, working, but his ears pricked and his eyes were continually straying to her. He was the sort of man who could be happy just being in the presence of his beloved, and that made Merlin roll his eyes—he'd put up with too many of Arthur's moods over Gwen to have much patience for that sort of thing. Especially with people who didn't know how lucky they were to still have their beloved where they could be _seen_…

But then, Merlin couldn't bring himself to mock Thomas for it. Because it reminded him of Lancelot, and Merlin still missed Lancelot.

"Well," she said. "A couple of people keep insisting they saw a dragon flying around, and of course we get those from time to time, passing through, but this time it was people in the town. Weird, isn't it?"

"Strange," Merlin muttered. "People think of the silliest things when they see a large bird." He patted Dragon's head casually, trying not to smirk.

"Yes," she said. "Nothing much is happening, though word has it that the baker's wife won't talk to him since she caught him flirting with Sally." She quirked her eyebrows and laughed. "As if the baker could figure out how to flirt! My older sister tried to get him, you know, but he was much too oblivious. Oh, I almost forgot. The queen of Camelot is pregnant."

Merlin sat up straight. "Queen Guinevere? She's going to have a baby?"

Annemarie nodded, glad of his reaction. "Yes, she's going to have a child. Hopefully the king's, of course…" She raised her eyebrows.

"What does that mean? Of course it's her husband's!" Merlin snapped, a little too fiercely, but Annemarie didn't seem to notice.

"I don't mean to be indelicate," she said. "But we heard some interesting things about her before the marriage, that was all. And you know what they say…"

"It's his," Merlin said, and this time the sureness in his voice silenced Annemarie. "I've known Gwen since she was just the blacksmith's daughter. She's the soul of nobility and completely decent."

"You know the queen?" Annemarie gasped with petty fascination, completely unashamed of herself. "What is she like?"

"I _knew _the queen," Merlin corrected, shaking his head. His petting of Dragon was becoming more forceful. "Apparently. She could have sent me a message!"

Thomas, who was currently wondering if Queen Guinevere was Merlin's "friend in a high place", commented, "Does she know where to find you?"

Merlin blinked and shrugged, and Dragon relaxed when the stroking of his fur returned to normal levels of pressure. "Probably not," he said. "Well, dammit—"

"_Merlin_!" Thomas cried, sitting up suddenly. He glared at Merlin and then looked at Annemarie, who was halfway turned away, pretending to be too genteel to notice Merlin's slip.

Merlin smiled. "I apologize, my lady," he said, a little over the top as always. "I've been on the road too long."

She smiled thinly.

"_Anyway_," Merlin said, since Thomas didn't look appeased and Merlin didn't want to be challenged to a duel or something ridiculous by a besotted man with delusions of knighthood. "She could have at least tried to find me! I guess I'll just have to go to her then!"

"In the heart of Camelot?" Thomas laughed. "You're joking."

Merlin looked at him. "No," he said. "I'm not. I'll just have to leave Dragon in the stables."

"Merlin, you're a sorcerer. Even if the penalty for magic isn't always death anymore…" Annemarie said, abandoning the policy of not-asking-not-telling that the rest of the people of the town had adopted. She couldn't shut up anyway. "How will you get in to see the queen without being seen?"

Merlin grinned and leaned back. "I'm sure it will be an epic story, involving bribing some knights and fistfights and jealous husband-kings. I'll come back and tell it to you."

Annemarie laughed. She had a nice laugh, as always. Then she stood. "I should be running," she said. "Enjoy the pie!"

She stood and made an awkward little curtsy towards Merlin and Thomas, before blushing and literally running out the door.

Thomas watched her go like he was a puppy abandoned by his master.

Merlin had a high tolerance for silliness. He'd used the abandoned-canine look several times. It even worked occasionally. But what he didn't have patience for was crippling shyness.

"I'll be leaving for Camelot soon, then," Merlin said, standing and pushing Dragon away. "I'll spend the night here, unless you kick me out. Dragon can be tied up outside."

"That's fine; take the blankets in the corner. I want to finish this tonight, though," Thomas said from his work.

"Good," Merlin said. "Now, I'm going for a walk. And by the way, if you don't announce your intentions to her by tomorrow, I'll probably take your place."

"Ha ha," Thomas said, obviously under the impression that Merlin was kidding.

Merlin hit the door forming an easy plan that would allow him to finish up here and head to Camelot to hug Gwen and bother Gaius about her safety. He was also thinking that he'd have to get that annoying little muzzle that annoying woman, because hadn't she practically shouted that he was a sorcerer? Who else was she going to end up shouting that too?

Oh well. It would probably come back to haunt him. Most things did.

* * *

Merlin was out of town by noon the next day.

"I don't know if this is a good idea," Annemarie said to him in the market that morning, as he told her what he wanted.

"Come on," Merlin said. "You want Thomas to court you, right?"

"Why do you say that?" she asked, blushing.

"Because I know how much sugar it takes to make a pie. Trust me, he's shy. This will enrage him right out of that."

"But it's so inappropriate."

"Only for me, so what do you care?"

She shook her head. "No," she said, looking sadly at Dragon. "I can't."

Merlin looked up. "Oh, look, there's Thomas."

"Do it!" she squeaked.

Merlin grinned and came forward so fast that Annemarie jumped, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her before she could say another word.

She pulled away in planned protest. Merlin didn't let her go, but she mumbled in complaint.

Merlin was starting to wonder how long it was going to take before…

A hand grabbed him by the collar and dragged him away from the gasping and a bit mussed girl, and a fist slammed into Merlin's face, definitely bruising his cheekbone as he went stumbling back and fell over Dragon, who _woofed_ as though he didn't like to be crashed into.

Merlin shook his head dizzily and looked up to see Annemarie clinging to Thomas's arm possessively, everyone staring, and Thomas looking at him murderously.

"Is everything cleared up now?" Merlin asked without preamble. "May I leave town without worrying about needing to return and set things straight again?"

Dragon ambled up to his master and licked where the bruise was forming.

Merlin smiled at the mutt. "I'm getting old, Dragon," he said. "I have as little patience as my own master these days."

* * *

Arthur heard talking in Gwen's chambers, and thought it sounded rather familiar, so he stopped and poked his head in after knocking.

Gwen looked innocently at him from her bed, her stomach starting to swell. She was fully dressed, but reclining, blinking too much. And there was an empty chair next to her.

"I thought I heard talking," Arthur said.

She smiled. "Oh, yes, dear. I was talking to the baby. I think he likes to hear his mother's voice."

Arthur froze, immediately suspicious. Gwen's voice wasn't that high. "Was he talking back?" he asked. "Because a voice sounded male."

Gwen's eyes filled with tears that only a hormonal woman could pull from no where. "You don't believe me?" she asked, sniffing. "You think I would lie to you, my liege?"

Arthur only laughed. He trusted Gwen, he really did. Even so, if he heard male voices in her rooms most of the time, he would be very cautious and unsure. Except, some voices belonged to some males he knew posed no threat, and he knew he could trust them.

"Of course not," he said. "It must have been a trick of my mind. I apologize, my love."

He started to leave, but then stopped and looked back. "Even so, Guinevere," he said. "Should you ever decide to entertain company I wouldn't approve of, and should he hide, say, under the bed when I come in, you might want to tell him not to leave his staff in the corner of the room when he dives for cover. Goodnight, dear. Have a nice chat. And if you see Gwaine, tell him I'm considering a new policy of blaming him for all security breaches."

He left Gwen sitting silently on her bed, smirking a little at him.

And as he went, he smiled.

And they thought he was unobservant!

* * *

**A/N: I am SO sorry for not updating in so long! SO sorry! In my defense… Okay, no defense. I'm a horrible person. But on the bright side, three chapters left! Originally I planned to make it longer, but decided three would definitely get down the idea—of Arthur trying to prove something to himself. **

Tune in for the next chapter:_ In which Arthur has nothing to do with it._

To be followed by: _In which a sorcerer is defeated._

And then the last chapter: _In which a sorcerer is saved. _


End file.
